A POEM BY KEITH WELCH
When nature deals you tiny hands
take heart, do not despair!
In this, unlike in saner lands
a head of floss-like hair
coupled with an orange-ish tan
will lend a presidential air
And if you have no policies
feel free to fan the hate
and leverage the qualities
to which your fans relate
financial inequalities
will draw them to the bait
So you’ll be the candidate
despite your party’s will
in any case, it’s their just fate
for stirring up the hill
of ants who loathe the federal state,
from here it’s all downhill
Although it’s clear your odds are slight
Please don’t give up, press on
your rabid fan-base on the right
might riot when you’re gone
and because they’re old and white
could wreck a Starbucks, Don.
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